


Infamous

by seryle



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, Fluff, Gen, casefic, gpoy, ish, it dunno I just have had this damn idea in my head for months now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 10:59:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1302418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seryle/pseuds/seryle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wild fangirl has attacked!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Infamous

The machete dug into Dean's side as he reached forward to knock on the small, thin trailer door. His usual pair of suit pants had a giant werewolf gash in the ass, so he was forced to wear the backup, which he hadn't needed since before Cas played god and holy shit they did not fit anymore. He caught Sam grinning at him as he tried (unsuccessfully) to adjust the waist to sit better. Dean returned the grin with a glare, wanting desperately to punch the smile off the kid's face, but not wanting to risk Abraham Lehr coming to the door in the midst of it. That would not seem very 'FBI-like; it was bad enough they'd reached the place at nearly midnight anyway. Add rough housing to the mix and good ole' neck-bitin Abe might realize the actual reason they were there and bolt. 

Sam squared up his shoulders when he heard the latch click; the preparation was unnecessary, though, as a petite girl cracked open the door. Her eyes went wide as she sized them up, her voice breaking on the first attempt to speak. 

“C-can I help you with something?” she asked, using the door as a shield. 

The brothers shared a quick puzzled look while grabbing their badges. They had no intel on a woman living here. 

“Hello, I'm agent DiNozzo, this is agent David,” Dean said, gesturing to Sam. “We're looking for a Mr Abraham Lehr, is he around?” 

Tentatively, she opened the door wider. “No he-he ran out to get some cigarettes,” she replied, eyes flicking to the Impala. “Is he in some kind of trouble?”

“We just need to ask him a few questions regarding an investigation,” Sam answered in a practiced, non-committal way. “Will he be home tomorrow?” 

“He should be home any minute now,” she replied, peering into the driveway as if mentioning Abraham would bring him home. “Please, come in,” she gestured, unlatching the screen door for them. “Excuse my poor manners. Have a seat.” 

The place was about as dirty as you'd expect for a 50-year-old's bachelor pad. Piles of magazines fell into the piles of empty liquor bottles when Dean pulled a chair out from the dining room table. If you could call folding chairs and a card table in the corner of the room a 'dining room table.' Something tacky hit his fingers when he touched the metal backing, and he tried to brush it off on the coffee stained lace doily decorating the kitchen counter. When that didn't work, he rubbed it off on his pants, officially condemning the polyester nightmare to a bleachy death when he got back to the motel. At least baby'll have some new shop rags. Amanda busied herself clearing the table, clearing stale pizza crusts and moldy hot-pockets out of their way. 

Through the musty smell of dust and old cigarette smoke, Dean could detect the scent of beautiful caffeine. And after driving all day to get here, he could absolutely use a cup. Or two. Amanda sat down with a mug for herself, and Dean stared wistfully at the steam until she finally got the hint. 

“Oh! I'm so sorry, how rude of me,” she said, jumping out of her seat. “It's a fresh pot, let me get you some.” 

She returned with two more cups, Dean refusing her offer of cream to instead dive right in. He gave Sam a 'judging you' squint over the rim of his mug as Sam ruined his coffee with three spoonfuls of sugar. He tested the flavor with a sip, and gave a polite nod of thanks, all the while watching Amanda who seemed to vibrate in place with nervousness. 

“Excuse me one moment,” she said, stepping out of the room, “I need to make a quick phone call.” 

Dean gave a gesture of 'yeah, sure,' not wanting to relinquish his grasp on the mug full of awesome. She scampered off, phone in ear, and he took another long drought in, moaning in satisfaction at the taste. Sam stared disbelievingly. 

“Could you be anymore pornographic?” he asked. Dean didn't even look up. 

“I could be naked,” he threatened. If he was forced to stay in these damn pants much longer, he would make good on that threat. He choose to focus on coffee instead of how his zipper rubbed awkwardly on his balls. He manged to nearly finish his cup before Amanda returned. 

“Sorry, thank you,” she managed, hands cupping around her mug for comfort. Sam gave her one of his patented 'I understand' smiles; you could manipulate a calm person just so much more easily than a nervous one. 

“Now,” she stated confidently staring at the pair, “let's cut the bullshit. Why are you two here?” 

Thrown aback by her swift change in demeanor, Sam answered by rote. “We're here to ask Abraham a few questions about our investigation.” 

“No, you're here because you think he's a vampire,” she retorted. “You're wrong.” 

Dean blinked. “Who the fuck are you?” he asked, eyes counting the number of exits to the trailer. Amanda flashed a pair of fangs in a wicked smile. 

“The actual vampire. But the million dollar question is, who are you?” she asked, reaching toward his collar. Every muscle in Dean's body twitched at once, but it was no use; nothing worked – his ass stayed firmed glued to the chair. 

“Because if I had to guess,” she continued, undoing his tie and the top buttons on his shirt, “I'd say I'm looking at the infamous Sam and Dean Winchester.” She finished shoving his shirt down enough to reveal the flaming star of his anti-possession tattoo. 

Dean's eyes flicked to Sam, who was as locked in as himself. He swallowed thickly and decided to give this bitch a taste of good ole' fashioned Winchester charm. 

“Sorry lady, but we don't do autographs,” he rasped in challenge. Nothing could have prepared them for what came next. 

The noise she made was not human, though it did resemble something you might hear at a Justin Beiber concert. Sammy recognized the shriek as something Becky had done all the time. An infectious giggle spread across her face, and she actually started jumping up and down, while babbling something along the lines of 'omigodomigodomigodomigod.' 

The brothers shot each other a mental 'what the fuck?' Dean had no idea what the hell was happening; that scared him more than Amanda's hand around his throat had. 

After a few minutes of excited spazing, she almost form coherent words, but they all ran together into one giant, caffeine buzz driven thought. 

“Oh my god you guys I am like your biggest fan and I can't believe the way you took out that Wendigo last year the and the Morton house was easily some of your best work and Holy shit Dean I can't believe you went to hell and to purgatory and back again and that you two have stopped to apocalypses and Fuck the Impala is _right out side this house_ and I have to see it--” 

and just like that, she was out the door. 

“Dean you fucking touch my car!,” Dean shouted after her. 

“Bigger problems, Dean,” Sam pointed out, trying to pry his hand from the table. “You try praying to Cas yet?” he asked. 

“No, I'd thought we'd just sit here and have a nice cup of coffee with Annie Wilkes.” 

The door burst open with Amanda on the other side, shrieking into her phone. “ I swear to fuck, Winchesters! No really, it's them, they came, listen!” she said, shoving the phone in Dean's face, catching him in the middle of shouting, “You better not have touched my car!” 

Sam winced in pain at the shrill scream that came from the other end of the phone. “I'll call you back, I totally need a picture.” 

This had to be a dream. Scratch that, this had to be a alcohol induced nightmare. It could not be real. There was no way in hell that Dean, along with his brother, were glued to a table while a vampire took a photo of the three of them. It just could not be happening. 

“Holy shit I cannot believe this. I am like your number one fan,” she said, shitting down to upload the photo to her friend. 

“If you're such fan, how about letting us go?” Sam tried. Amanda beamed. 

“I will! But I'm supposed to deliver a message first. Oh, and run away, because Dean totally wants to chop my head off right now. Omigod Dean Winchester actually wants to chop my head off I want to tweet this so goddamn bad,” she squealed, legs bouncing out of control. “But first, I gotta deliver a message. It's for you,” she turned to Dean, her cheeks straining from smiling so hard. “Well, it's actually for Benny. It's for you to give to Benny,” she explained, head bobbing. She stopped suddenly and turned a very interesting shade of red, focusing directly on Dean. 

“Is Benny really as good a kisser as Castiel is?” she blurted out, eyes eager for an answer. Sam couldn't help the giggle that escaped him from that one. 

“How the hell would I know?” he asked defensively, color rising in his cheeks. 

“But didn't you pick Benny as your lover over Castiel?” she pried, leaning in uncomfortably close. Sam started laughing uncontrollably. 

“I didn't pick- I'm not gay!” he stated, and she seemed to deflate at that news. “Is that your message?” he demanded incredulously. 

“No! No the message is for Benny to join us,” she said, fishing out an envelope from her purse on the floor. “Benny is completely without protection, and has great potential. My coven wants him to join us,” she said, smiling as she pushed the envelope closer. 

“Gimme one good reason why he should.” 

“Because he's drinking blood out of a cooler that was stolen from the Red Cross. You can't beat the live thing; he's gonna relapse.”

“So you want him to start killing again,” Dean said flatly. The girl smiled. 

“Good ole' Abe Lehr wasn't a vampire,” she explained, pulling out her phone again. “He was a child molester. One who escaped FBI notice for years. “ 

Sam interrupted. “But the police reports --” 

“Are fake,” she finished for him. “I wrote them to lure you in,” she preened a bit, quite pleased with her handiwork. 

“My coven has one philosophy,” she went on, trying to pitch the sale to them both, “A good predator doesn't take the strongest of the herd. They take the weakest. Those who are too sick to procreate,” she played with her phone a bit, then turned the screen so they could both see the decrepit photos she had. “I'd say Abraham was one sick fuck, wouldn't you?” 

Her evidence was pretty damming; Dean turned his head away, trying to wash out the memory. 

“Sorry,” she apologized, setting the phone down, “I wanted you to know I'm not lying. The envelope has details for Benny.” Amanda swept her phone and pen back into her purse. “The spell holding you in place will wear off once I'm far enough away that I hope Dean won't still try to kill me.” She flashed them both another smile, unable to contain her joy at meeting the brothers. “Before I go though,” she said, turning to Sam, “Can... Can I have a hug?” she asked, arms outstretched. 

Sam didn't react with a 'no' fast enough, so she threw herself at him with enough force to topple the two of them – had Sam not been frozen by the spell. It went on for an uncomfortably long time; when she did finally stand up, she stole a kiss on Sam's cheek, then ran off giggling the whole way out the door. 

The Winchester brothers sat there, quite literally frozen, unable to fully process what had just occurred. Sam decided to voice this thought. 

“What the hell.” 

“I have no idea,” Dean countered, testing to see if the spell had worn off. It hadn't. 

“But I'm going back to the motel and burning these pants.”


End file.
